


A Better Story

by Persuade_me



Series: The Unnamed Dornish Prince [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, King Gendry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persuade_me/pseuds/Persuade_me
Summary: The unnamed Dornish Prince observes the election of the new king of Westeros.Or how the Dragon Pit scene should have gone.





	A Better Story

He doesn’t even know why he’s here, really. This council, trial, jury, whatever it is, doesn’t matter in the slightest to him. And even if it did, he has no real power. He’s only here because the actual ruler, Princess Arianne couldn’t be bothered to make the journey.

But really, what does Dorne care for the fate of the dwarf who betrayed the Dragon Queen and the bastard who killed her? No matter the outcome, Dorne is going to continue as they have done.

Gods, he’s bored.

He’d perked up a bit when the tiny Northern girl had threatened to kill the Ironborn. That at least would have been interesting, but in the end, they’d only glared and everyone had lived, and he’d gone back to idly watching the two prisoners.

The curly haired bastard hadn’t said a word, but the dwarf had followed the discussion with interest and attempted to interject a few times. But the Unsullied hadn’t let him. _What was he called again? Green Grub? Black Bug?_

He doesn’t remember, nor does he actually care. How much longer does he have to sit here? Why didn’t he bring any wine?

The dwarf is talking now. _Why is Blue Maggot letting him speak?_

“And who has a better story than Bran the Broken?”

Oh. The cripple? Well, that’s something.

“No.”

He swivels his head to the boy. Or man, he supposes.

The dwarf looks confused. “No?”

The cripple, Bren maybe, gazes at him steadily. “No. I am no king. I have no wish to be king. I am the Three Eyed Raven.” _What in the seven hells does that mean?_ “And I cannot be what you want me to be.”

“But my lord,” the dwarf begins.

“I am no king,” the cripple continues, “but there is one here who could be.”

He looks around him, eyeing the others with just a bit more interest. He sees the Tully man start to preen a bit when the cripple speaks.

“There is power in a king’s blood.” The cripple turns his unsettling gaze on the young lord sitting by the onion man. _Wasn’t he a bastard? Not that it mattered._

The bastard lord’s face goes white. “What?”

“Gendry Baratheon,” the cripple drones, “you have the blood of the last rightful king of Westeros running through your veins. You, more than anyone here, have the strongest claim to the throne.”

“But- I- No- I’m not a king! You lot just said I could still be a lord, and I don’t even think I can do that!” The bastard looks panicked. It’s a bit amusing.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Arya!” The icy redhead has turned to the tiny Northern girl, looking shocked at her outburst. “You can’t just-“

“Yes, I can.” She turns back to the bastard lord. “I told you. You’d be a wonderful lord, but Bran’s right. You have the best claim, and I can’t think of anyone who would make a better king.”

“Are you insane? I still can’t use a fork. How am I supposed to rule a country?”

“You’ll learn.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you. None of this means anything.”

“And I told you.”

They both glare at each other, but he’s not from Dorne for nothing. He can tell when two people want nothing more than to rip each other’s clothes off.

Oh. Now this. This is _interesting_.

“I’m not doing this without you.”

“But I’m not-“

“For fucks sake, Arya! Do you think I give a shit about ladies? You wouldn’t be a lady, anyway. You’d be the fucking queen!”

He takes a quick glance around at the others. There are varying expressions of shock, confusion, and amusement on their faces. All except the cripple. He just looks like he’s watching a mildly interesting theatre performance he’s seen before and already knows the outcome.

He looks back at the tiny Northern murder girl. She’s glowering at the bastard lord, but he thinks if she was looking at him that way, he’d probably take her right here in front of everyone, lords and ladies be damned.

“Fine,” she spits, taking a step forward.

“Fine,” the bastard lord replies, moving towards her.

“No one’s making me get rid of Needle.” Another step.

“I’ll execute anyone who tries.” He steps closer.

“I’m not wearing a dress. Not unless I want to.” They’re a foot apart.

“I don’t want you in a dress.” The bastard lord’s voice drops, and his hands wrap around her arms.

If he wasn’t Dornish, he probably would have blushed at just how laden with innuendo the bastard lord’s statement was. As it is, the gasps from around him make him chuckle.

It’s not until the murder girl roughly pulls the bastard lord’s lips to hers that the curly haired bastard finally speaks.

“What the fuck?! How- What- Why- What. The. Fuck.”

The murder girl turns to her brother, _or is it her cousin?_ He can’t remember.

“I’m marrying Gendry, and since he’s apparently going to be the king, that makes me your queen.” She turns and glares at everyone. “Unless any of you have a problem with that.”

No one speaks. Everyone just looks baffled at this turn of events.

“Good. Jon, you’re pardoned. Tyrion, take Casterly Rock. Sansa, the North is yours. Davos, you’ve got Storm’s End. Yara, as long as there’s no raping and pillaging, I don’t care what you do. Stay out of our business, and we’ll stay out of yours. But if you fuck up, I will personally cut your face off, understand?”

The Ironborn nods mutely.

“Grey Worm,” _That was his name_. “I’m giving you till the end of tomorrow to get the Unsullied on a ship and out of Westeros. Take the Dothraki with you. Go free more slaves or something. I don’t care.”

Grey Worm looks as if he is about to speak, but apparently thinks better of it.

“Right then, come on, your grace.” The murder girl grabs the bastard lord, king? by the hand and drags him off to one of the tunnels that branch off from the Dragon Pit. Probably to fuck his brains out.

“Does anyone else understand what just happened?” The onion man asks, looking utterly confused.

The dwarf speaks again. “It appears we have a new king?”

“And a queen,” the cripple says. “They will be good rulers. Better than any of us.”

Well then. This was not how he expected this meeting to go, but it was definitely entertaining. And he still has plenty of time left for drinking. And maybe a whore or two.

Everyone stands and kind of awkwardly looks around before heading to the exit.

The curly haired bastard speaks again. “Is anyone going to tell me how my baby sister just ended up as the queen of Westeros?”


End file.
